


when the hours never rust

by jeien



Category: Sound Horizon (Albums)
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Master/Servant, Post-Canon, Very Brief Mention of Attempted Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeien/pseuds/jeien
Summary: His day begins early.
Relationships: Amethystos | Elefseus/Blue Prince | Tettere
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	when the hours never rust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiz (kizunagatari)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kizunagatari/gifts).



> gotta feed me and darling in this rarepair hell, right? seriously though it's purely self-indulgent, as it's supposed to accompany [this lovely piece](https://twitter.com/jeienb/status/1285092360796409863) from lilyresh. [check out her work here!](https://twitter.com/lilyresh1)

His hair is white.

He runs his fingers through the strands of freshwater pearls, completely pristine. Thanatos’s divine favor had bled from his hair long ago as he knelt in defeat against the goddess, consigned to a punishment of eternal life. After centuries of wandering, it’s only now that the sunset marks of his birthright have disappeared into the dredges of history, found in mere pages of an unpopular book left untranslated to modern tongues. He wonders if he’ll ever forget any of it, even though he has yet to do so.

He braids a small length of those white locks on the right side out of habit. What looks back at him in the mirror as his hands work through the motions is a pale imitation of his former glory—but that suits him just fine, especially in this age.

He ties the rest back loosely, throws it over his shoulder. Fixes his collar, folds his sleeves neatly above his elbow, clips them in place as he steps out of his personal quarters. His day begins early.

His steps ring clear amidst the bustle of the coming morning. He quickly checks on the servants: the cooks who are diligently preparing breakfast, the housemaids who are sparing every effort to keep the estate spotless, everyone who ensures that the day’s proceedings will run smoothly.

“I heard that Lord Adley’s coming later,” the page boy says as he hands him the mail and paper. “Will everything be alright?”

“You don’t need to worry,” he says with a trace of a smile, a phantom of kindness from idle days in the mountains. “Just carry on with your duties as you always have and leave the rest to us.”

“Yes, sir!”

His lord is already in his trousers by the time he arrives. Unlike any other nobleman in this country, his lord merely smiles and says, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gone to take care of matters personally.”

He simply picks up where his lord had left off and helps him into a white collared shirt, his vest, his cravat. “I wouldn’t deprive my lord his amusement.”

“Is Adley coming like we foresaw?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then it _will_ be amusing, won’t it?” His lord says with a laugh, filling the silence the birds have left behind in the winter. “Remember not to be so rash this time.”

“Mister Hayhurst’s pistol didn’t allow us the luxury, my lord.”

“Ah, my hero, ever ready to lay his life down for the duke of a rapidly declining house.”

“You know I can’t die.”

“But you’ll do it thousands of times over, if you could. How many times have you tried?”

“I can’t recall anymore.”

His lord purses his lips into a teasing smile. On a whim, his lord tenderly brushes some loose white strands behind his ear while he’s kneeled on the ground to help him into his boots. “Well, that’s no good. We can’t have you going senile when you’re in charge of managing my affairs.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

His mind is as sharp as the blade he keeps hidden. Nothing will ever compare to his swords, but it’s enough.

“Good, good. Shall we head off?”

“Yes, sir.”

That morning, his lord takes his breakfast in the first floor’s parlor room. It’s close to the entrance, furnished lavishly and elegantly with golds and silvers and billowing silks that crown his favorite chair—a perfect room to wait for uninvited guests eager to intrude, ready to kill.

“I trust your judgment, Elef.”

Doors burst open and, although his hair is pure white with no traces of legend or myth to be seen, Elef’s eyes darken briefly and his body waits for ancient reflexes to take hold.

The sun rises to the same problems in a new era. In light of that, how could he ever forget anything?

**Author's Note:**

> come scream with me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/jeienb)


End file.
